


Remembrance Day

by LilyV687



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyV687/pseuds/LilyV687
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hastings has a hard time on the 12th anniversary of Remembrance Day but, with the help of Poirot, he manages to get through it- perhaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance Day

Hastings sighed. It was the day. The day the guns stopped firing and the battlegrounds were once again silent. It was the War to end all Wars, and it had been over now for sixteen years, and peace was reigning. Well, it was in England at least. The wind outside broke into a hollow whistle, blowing in from the open French windows to the living room. It was cold outside and he was in his shirtsleeves, but Hastings couldn’t feel the freeze of the snow as is swirled around the balcony.

“Hastings?” a familiar voice called. “Why are you outside?”

Hastings turned around, releasing the metal balustrade and leaving marks from the warmth of his hands. Standing a few steps from the window was Poirot. In front of him on the floor, tiny snowflakes littered the carpets and melted. When one landed on his patent-leather shoe, a look of pain crossed Poirot’s face in that characteristic way that almost made Hastings smile.

“It is cold, mon ami,” he said as the wind grew stronger again, ruffling Poirot’s jacket. “Come inside and I will make you some chocolat.” His brow creased as he spoke, making it seem almost as if he were scowling. Hastings inclined his head and walked back inside as Poirot reached behind him and pulled the window shut. Hastings began to walk to the kitchen when Poirot arrested him, tugging gently at his elbow.

“You were thinking about it, n’est-ce pas?” his eyes shone wide with concern. Hastings looked down at the little man, his heart endeared by the way Poirot looked; so worried for his friend. Slowly, Hastings spoke.

“Yes. God, Poirot, how much I’m glad it’s ended.”

“I know, mon cher, I know.” Poirot moved closer, his waist almost pressed against the other’s, and picked up Hastings’ hand. Momentarily startled, Hastings pulled his hand away, but returned it almost immediately, realising his friend was only trying to make the pain a little less. Poirot smiled and petted Hastings’ hand.

“Vous avez été dans une grande partie, mon Hastings. You have to forget. The painful memories, they must go. Only then will you-” Poirot stopped abruptly as Hastings latched onto him, sobbing and clutching at his shoulders.

“It’s just-” he choked, “God, Poirot, it’s- it’s-.” Poirot reached his hands over Hastings’ back and held his friend tightly.

“Shhh… be still, mon cher Hastings. All is well. It is over. What’s done is done.” While speaking, Poirot’s hand climbed up his friend’s back and held his shoulders as they shuddered from his sobs. As he calmed, Poirot allowed his hand to slip across Hastings’ broad shoulders and come to rest at the back of his neck. Without thinking, his fingers began to play with the hair at the back of Hastings’ neck, and as Hastings moved, his fingertips brushed against his skin and Poirot stopped. Both men were silent for a few seconds before Hastings drew back, his need for breath overpowering the tension between them. Poirot looked, for the first time Hastings had seen, genuinely shocked, but the emotion quickly passed and turned to apology.

“Hastings, I-”

“No, no, Poirot. No, I-” Hastings waved his hands around in an agitated manner.

“I-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Hastings sniffed. “I shouldn’t ha…” his voice trailed off as he looked at Poirot. It didn’t take much for Hastings to see the pain that his friend was feeling, and the guilt. Slowly, he moved forward and reached up, placing his hands on Poirot’s cheeks. Poirot’s wide eyes looked up, but closed as Hastings leaned down, soft lips pressing against his own. As they kissed, Poirot’s hands reached down Hastings’ back and he tried to reciprocate but instead it caused him to stumble and rattle a nearby side table. Poirot began to chuckle as they straightened up, and as they did so a faint noise sounded from the corridor. They broke apart to stare back at the horrified Miss. Lemon.


End file.
